Living Lost
by ThePopTartSpirits
Summary: Life as told by a little lost puppy on the wrong side of the tracks... a collection of angsty Jounochi oneshots. Rating because, as you'll soon find out, I'm quite sadistic.
1. Pain

**Pain**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

"Life as told by a little lost puppy on the wrong side of the tracks... a collection of angsty Jounochi one-shots."

You know that much. What I haven't yet told you is that there is no rhyme or reason to these little snippets of black. When I feel like killing something, instead of taking up the sword in reality, I come in here and kill Jou. Why Jou? God only knows. I apologize every time I do it, as though that makes it better...

Believe me, though, these monsters on the other end of your screen do feel guilt.

* * *

Pain.

He felt pain.

Pain encompassed his very being, made him feel sick, made him feel weak all over.

Pain was the song his heartbeat sung every time it thudded against his bruised chest. Pain was the beat of the throbbing in his arms, the dripping of the blood from the cuts there. Pain was the background hum of the betrayal in his amber eyes. Pain radiated from his broken body.

Rage.

He clenched his fist. His rage overshadowed his pain. His rage was what kept him walking through the pouring rain, to no end, one foot in front of the other. His rage drove him relentlessly. His rage was white hot behind his amber eyes. Rage hissed out of his clenched teeth in staggered breaths.

Loneliness.

He couldn't help but feel lonely; not one other person shared the rain-slicked pavement. Loneliness slowed his steps, made him weaker than the pain, made his amber eyes fill with unwanted and unshed tears. Loneliness was what he felt at the end of the day. Loneliness encapsulated what was left of a broken teenage heart.

Abandoned…

He felt abandoned. Tossed aside. Trash. Unimportant. Worthless. He didn't want to feel that way, but he had no say. Like his tormentor sneered, "No one wants you. You're a piece of garbage. Look at you! Worthless…" Abandonment was, if possible, worse than loneliness. Perhaps even worse than abuse. Definitely worse than physical pain. Physical pain healed, went away. Physical pain could be ignored at times. Not abandonment. Abandonment tore at your very soul, left you feeling like the only way out was to drop into the gutter and wait for the end to come. Sometimes the feeling was so bad, you felt like bringing the end to yourself.

Resolution.

"Not gonna let that happen again," he growled through his pain-clenched teeth. "Not gonna let that bastard son of a bitch touch me again…" His fist slammed into his open palm to punctuate his resolution. He felt somewhat stronger. His despondency, that feeling of despair, was leaving him.

A blinding blow to the head. He felt himself falling backwards.

"Fuck!…"

A blurred shape above him. He recognized that shape. He screamed, not in terror, but in denial.

No one to hear him.

He felt something brush his side, then he lay on his stomach, and the same thing brushed his back. The brushes became harder. They became whip-lashes, strokes laid with a glass-encrusted leather thong.

The rain fell harder.

A solitary tear… his blurred sight… a single rose hung in front of him…

Again, he screamed.

His pain returned.

Pain.

* * *

This is the first one ever, written in 2003. They get better, I promise. 


	2. My Fault

**My Fault**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

* * *

No... no...

How—what—who—why?!

Well, I can see what—from the way the gun is clasped in your lifeless hand, having fallen in a perfect arc from where it was once pressed to your now broken, bloodstained temple. That's also how—a single, agony-filled bullet to the brain.

Oh, how like an innocent I sound, as though I were far removed from this. As though I never knew you. But I did, love, and I wonder if you forgot me in those blessed few seconds before the shot struck home.

Listen to me; I'm poetically detached. I sit here, on my ankles, staring at your chilled, accusing shell and wondering what it was that drove you to the extreme. You threatened many times in your emotional instability, but always my love for you kept you going. A thought crosses my mind like a sneering black cat: was my love not enough?

This brings me to my unanswered question, the answer to which I may never know: why? Why leave me here? Why leave me alone? Why leave? Why?!

"Why?..." I choke on the stench of death. This mangled corpse, this bloody semi-automatic, this scene isn't you. It's a scene from an 'M' rated video game like the ones we used to play, it's a scene from a late-night primetime news channel like the ones we'd have blaring just to mask our own noise... but this scene is not you. Not the friend who taught me love, not the lover who taught me the pleasure and pain of ecstasy. This can't be you.

My stomach lurches. I'm not as far removed as I first believed. Desperately I clutch at your other hand, feeling the cold, unyielding flesh and begging for this to be a nightmare I could wake up from. Like all the other times I saw you die, this has to be a dream...

Fleetingly I hope that there is one more bullet in that gun.

My grasping fingers touch upon something crumpled in your rigid fist. Prying said fist open and wincing as dead bones crack, I behold a note.

A note addressed to yours truly.

Bloodstained and crumpled as it is, the note is at first impossible to read. Then as my tear-blurred eyes focus, I skim the first few lines and realize that I don't want to read it at all.

But I cannot tear my eyes away.

"I know you're reading this, you whimpering canine," it reads, and I cringe at the way you rile me, even in death. You know what makes me angry. You always did.

"I know you're reading this, you whimpering canine. That's why I wrote it. To tell you after my demise what a cowardly piece of refuse you are. This mess before you is your own damn fault. You drove me to this with your mistakes, your cheer, you goddamn love. Love? I don't need love. Hell, never have. And the fact that someone—you, no less—has the nerve to love me, seduce me, make me act unrationally and unthinkingly is more than I can handle."

I can imagine your hand shaking as you write this. Shaking with rage, or regret?

Oh, my love, don't do this to me. You're tearing me up. I don't need this, don't know how much more I can take...

"You've driven me to the edge and pushed me off into oblivion, mutt. I'm escaping now, from you and your love. There is nowhere else to turn. Drugs don't free me long enough, blood only flows so long. This is my last resort and it's all your fault."

I reel back from your body, throwing the note away from me in something akin to panic. I can imagine you actually saying this to me in your sneering cold way and each word is a six-inch in the gut. Tears are falling freely now, spattering over your bloody clothes and your face. That face, the mask I came to love. Serene, even in death. Oh, gods, what have you done to me?!

I'm tasting bile; all I can hear are your biting words, all I can see are your icy sapphire eyes, all I can feel is the pain in my heart... That bruised and beaten, straining organ.

It just broke.

My fault. Your death was... my fault? And I can see now that is was. It must have been.

The two of us were never meant to be together. I should have seen that from the beginning, but the circumstances didn't allow for rational thought. And by forcing my love upon you I only made the whole damn situation worse.

I was oblivious to your pain, and now I have no chance to redeem myself. I can now see why you were driven to bring the end. This pain, this blinding heartache and undeniable betrayal, is too hot and heavy for me to bear.

Guess I take your last train outta here.

My fault...

Click.

* * *

R&R 


	3. Crush

**Crush**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

* * *

We're at war.

Myself and the demon that wears my father's skin.

That demon is the only explanation for why he acts the way he does. The bastard rapes me, strikes me, sends his cronies after me, all because he's got a leech on his brain. A demon bent on destruction.

Before the divorce, things weren't so bad. He'd have a little wine at a dinner party or something like that, but never touched the stronger stuff. Said it made him sick. And he'd never do any kind of drug (sometimes he wouldn't even take his prescriptions) and excessively warned me and Serenity about the dangers they held. So his abuse, which started after the divorce, can't have been the reason mom left him.

I guess I'll never know why she did the things she did. She took my sister away from me and left her husband a broken man, vulnerable to attack. Vulnerable to demons.

Now he's a shadow of his former self, kinda like a starving man gets when he'' been without sustenance for too long. Like parched skin stretched over moving bones, with haunted hollow eyes and a leering grin.

The descent into madness began shortly after the divorce became final. We lost the house when he lost his job due to political wrangling, and were forced to move to the slums. Then he found he liked the taste of whiskey. Same with cocaine. Same with me... and from there it could only get worse.

And all the while the demon was whispering in his ear, worming its way into his mind and dulling the senses there. It might have polished me off long ago, if it didn't need me to bring in the money that fed its lusts.

Money, however, wasn't the only thing that sated the demon's desire.

I am, by most rights, a fairly attractive young man. Blonde hair, laughing amber eyes, lithe and slender build. I knew some found me desirable, but wasn't prepared to see my father looking at me in that same way...

* * *

"Hey, dad, guess what?"

"What, Joey?" My father's laughing voice came from the living room. My face was lit up in joy as I bounded into the next room to greet him.

"I got an A on my history test! Sansaki-san says that I'm really improving!"

Dad swept me up into a bear-hug, me giggling all the time. "That's great, son!" His grin proved his words true.

I sat in his arms, my legs wrapped around his chest, and looked at my daddy. He was a bit thinner, and his hair was beginning to gray, but if that was it then the move hadn't really changed us at all.

Seriously I stared into his green eyes, which had crow's feet in their corners from his smile. "Can we celebrate, daddy?"

He cocked his head to the side. "How's that?"

"I wanna go out to eat, get a hot fudge sundae."

His smile fell, and I knew instantly that my request wasn't possible. I covered his lips with my small hand. "It's okay, daddy, I can wait."

His smile was sad, then, and he put me down. Kneeling, he placed both big hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eye.

"Son, I'm sorry that we can't have nice things for when you are to be congratulated."

Suddenly his face changed. His smile went from kind and sad to leering and cynical. I didn't like it one bit.

His voice, now growling and harsh, continued. "But I can show you I care in the best way I know how."

The lights went out. It was dark outside and so no light shone through the windows. I'd been outside playing and had come home when the sun set. I was now wishing I'd stayed outside.

"Daddy, what are you doing? What kind of game is this? I don't like this game, daddy! Turn the lights on, I'm scared!"

His breath came close to my ear and I jumped. Somehow he'd gotten behind me. "It's going to be all right, Jou," he murmured, licking my ear. His hand went up the back of my shirt and around to the front, pulling my body back against him. Something hard jabbed into my back and pulsed slightly. Somehow, even in my childish innocence, I knew what was going on.

"No, daddy, no, don't do this, daddy!"

"Shh, it'll hurt if you fight, Jou..." he whispered, his breathing heated and ragged. My shirt was gone, ripped in two and flung off into some corner. My kiddie shorts were pulled down, as were my Duel Monsters briefs. I whimpered against the rough hand that suddenly held my mouth.

His free hand came down to finger my small member and I let out a frightened squeal. He sucked almost violently on my neck to try and silence me.

I found myself pushed on to the floor, unable to move, one of his hands still on my small shaft. I felt his other hand opening my tight virgin entrance, thrusting in powerfully and scraping the insides to make me bleed. The natural lubricant allowed him to push in without much resistance. However, I was ten and still small for my age. He only got in about halfway.

Then the pumping began. He'd thrust into my small body with grunts and groans, all the while counter-pushing my groin. I didn't understand that, didn't want any of it. My sobs and screams grew louder, more frequent, and higher in pitch as he continued to pound into me. Blood was flowing freely now, and I flung my arms out in surrender when they refused to hold me up any longer.

The fierce movements from behind drove me, naked and bleeding, into the hard floor. The impact was jarring and the resulting bruises showed for weeks. My cries became fainter as I began to lose consciousness. My last memory of that night was his triumphant shriek as he came into my broken body. I weep as I remember...

* * *

I was ten at the time, if I didn't say so before, but I still wince in pain at the memories now seven years later. My innocence was shattered, as was my youthful glow and childlike demeanor. I began to learn to defend myself, and that demon-shell of a man has scars in embarrassing places to prove I am no child.

The demon still wouldn't leave me alone, though. It began to send gangs after me, faceless horny bastards to catch me off guard. I hate that demon to the hottest core of hell, but hate won't kill a demon. You can't kill them with words, or thoughts, or even blades. A demon is killed when everything is lost to them, and I'm working on that.

This war, like everything else about my life, takes an emotional toll on me, but I'm strong. I will not let that demon who was once my father strip me of my consciousness and leave me to die.

I suppose it shouldn't be that a father is afraid of his own son, but if his fear keeps me alive then so be it. I could kill him in half of a heartbeat and both he and that leech of a demon know it. But I keep him alive because of my weakness. My weakness is that I see the good in all people, no matter how far gone they are. Of course, the demon knows this. That's why it keeps both my father and I alive. It hopes that we'll crush one another in this war. But I've got a message for that demon, if he thinks he's killing me:

Take care of reality for me, you son of a bitch, 'cause I'm never coming back.

* * *

R&R 


	4. Clown

**Clown**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

* * *

"Yugi's no Kaiba; he's gonna beat this clown!"

I wonder, when I said that, what exactly did I mean?

The moment I said it I felt a pang of guilt, like I was being untrue to you. Although your soul was in some other realm at the moment, I felt like my words were false to you, false to your love.

And in saying that, did I mean that Yugi had none of your fiery spirit? Nah, although fiery isn't exactly a word I'd use for Yugi at times, the kid has plenty of spirit.

Did I mean Yugi didn't have your way of worming into your opponent's head and scaring them senseless? Now that I think of it, when Yugi duels, it's like there's someone else doing it instead of the sweet, gentle Yugi we know. A powerful person, and he does indeed scare people senseless. I've seen it enough times to believe it.

Did I mean Yugi didn't have your way of looking at me and turning my insides to mush? Well, in that context, no, but those amethyst eyes of his could get him anything he wanted if he knew how to use them properly.

What is wrong with me? Can't I see you're gone? And even my thoughts are making no sense. I can't figure out where I was going with this silent tirade. I'm missing you badly, so badly...

Yugi's up there now, dueling that silver-haired freak (err... no offense, Bakura) to win back your soul. And all I can do is compare him to you and drool about you like a schoolgirl. But no. You're gone. It hurts me to say it, and I feel like crying right here in front of everyone who wouldn't understand, but you are gone. And even though Yugi is the most amazing duelist I've ever seen (hey, he beat you, didn't he?) I doubt even he will be able to beat ol' Peggsy.

But my love... if he fails you'll be lost to me forever. Not only that but Yugi will too. Don't think I could take that. I might do something drastic, like jump off the balcony into the ocean below, or blow my brains out with Croquet's 9 mil. I might do all that if I lose you.

Way to lay a guilt trip, Jou.

A guilt trip to a lover who is no longer there.

My hands are already shaking, but the others think that's just because I'm pissed at Pegasus. But I'm missing you. I want to be held. I want your strong, pale arms around me and your low voice whispering in my ear. I want to succumb to your tiny pleasures and melt in your embrace. But now as I'm watching this duel, I know that's not possible.

And I wonder who's the clown—Pegasus, or me...

* * *

R&R 


	5. Cry

**Cry**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

* * *

The rain falls softly down; the doves scatter with each passing car. The sparkling drops pelt feathers and skin alike as passerby without umbrealls get doused in the sun shower.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the sky grows dark. The growling clouds roil ominously like jackals with intent to kill. Somewhere, anywhere, a child screams.

_Flashback to neverland, you were just a child then. Did the pain ever seem to fade? Sink into the arms of fate... just a child, and yet so old..._

The offending water crashes down steadily now, drenching those who still dare to venture out... and those who have no safe haven to venture from. The street people, the bums, the petty thieves... the fallen angels.

_Cry, the beloved child, for those who have no name. Let them not come too close to reality, for just as quickly will reality be torn away again. Let them not stand too silent when the setting sun makes red this life with fire, for sunset brings niht, and night brings demons... let them not cherish life, for fear shall rob them of it if they love too much..._

Rain pounds hardest through leaky roofs, harder still harder upon tired hearts. The child's screams have been reduced to whimpers now, barely heard above the pounding rain, pounding fists, pounding... merciless pounding. His amber eyes gone dull, childish mouth gone slack, innocence gone... he prays for the end.

But death just laughs at his tiny pleas, and turns its back upon him.

_God bless the innocent forced to grow up too fast. God bless the young performing old acts with dirtied minds and weary hearts. God bless the child who suffers._

Blood rains from the skies of his chest and back, the growling of the clouds his empty stomach. The doves fluttering foolishly are his friends; how would they, could they, understand? His tormentor is the shadows made clearer in rainfall, the smirk on his face is that silver lining all clouds of nightmares have.

Tears falling mingle with the blood, sweat, and rain. How far can this child trek through the scorching wilderness of hate before his slender legs buckle and his scarred, pale chest refuses to rise? How long before the vultures of this world descend, tearing his raw soul to ribbons under his father's watchful eye? He thought if he grew up the pain would end, but now he's an old man in a child's broken body and the hurt remains.

_Rain clouds fall upon my soul, kiss the black eyes' burning coal. Make out misery obsolete and raise us, healing, to our feet..._

Children's rhymes cannot save, cannot comfort, cannot hold. Oh, how this child misses his mother! See his lip tremble, he cannot believe she is gone from him. His bleeding eyes are wide as he tries frantically to hold to scraps of memories, a life long dead. Hold his broken, dirty hand and try to bring him to the light. If you can. If you can.

The rain falls softly down; the doves scatter with each passing car.

_Oh, God, save this child._

The sparkling drops pelt feathers and skin alike as passerby without umbrellas get doused in the sun shower.

_His feet are weary, Lord, and I have not the strength to carry him._

Suddenly, unexpectedly...

_Lord hear my prayer..._

The sky grows dark...

_Bless the fallen child whose name I never knew..._

Somewhere, anywhere...

_He knows I love him, Lord, even though my voice is fading... my eyelids grow heavy... oh, dear Savior, bring him towards the light!_

A child...

_He is not alone._

...cries...

_Ah, my Lord, bless this child who suffers..._

* * *

Apparently inspired by Wingleader Sora Jade's The Child Who Suffers. It's been so long, I don't even remember that story.

R&R.


	6. My December

**My December**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

To get the full effect, listen to My December by Linkin Park while reading this.

* * *

_This is my December_

Snowflakes serenely dying in the reflection of the fire in the window...

_This is my time of the year_

A figure at the window, face obscured by the whirling white...

_This is my December_

A solitary finger tracing the window as though its owner could still see the lithe figure struggling through the drifts... away...

_This is all so clear_

He knew why the other had left. He was empty within. He did not deserve the other. He was a shell devoid of anything anyone could ever want...

_This is my December_

And yet... the finger becomes a fist, the window becomes a thousand tiny waspish shards. Blood mixes briefly with the snowfall, then fades away to gray...

_This is my snow covered home_

His mind was icy covered stoicism, so like his eyes, devoid of all emotion... He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled, except for that weak grin... trying to make the other stay... he cursed himself for his weakness. Wait... everything he'd done in the past month was weak. Love. Love is a weakness.

_This is my December_

A tear on his pale cheek, slipping to his bloodied hand. The room is filling slowly with white... the broken window letting the coldness of his soul breathe the rest of the life from the room...

_This is me alone_

_And I  
_

Dragging his feet in the snow, trying not to lose consciousness, the blonde trudged on. He didn't know where he was going, except for away. He was going away, away from the other who said he loved him, away from the hurt and the pain... and the regret.

_Just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

The brunette, standing in front of the broken pane, felt his stony heart melt, crack, and shatter like the statue in the yard. He was certain he knew what went wrong, but how could he fix it when the one who was shattered was thousands of miles away?

He felt helpless. And regardless of whether or not he liked it... there was nothing he could do.

_And I take back all the things I said to make you feel like that_

Shivering uncontrollably, the blonde sank to his knees in the snow. He'd left the city a day and a half ago... he didn't know where he was. He was lost in a teeming mass of white... and losing the battle of living fast...

His heart was aching, cracking, breaking as he knelt panting in the snow. He knew the other hadn't meant what he said, meant what he did, but the blonde wasn't even sure now where to turn, much less how to make things right...

_And I_

Suddenly realizing that the room was a frozen ghost-story of its former self, the brunette shivered and walked out. Up the stairs, twice, thrice, into the attic and out on to the roof, his house coat whipping in the frigid winter howling wind... he stood that way for what seemed like eternity on end, cradling his injured hand, staring into the distance as though calling to the other with his mind...

_Just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

He remembered something. Something he'd left... at the mansion. Struggling to his feet, the blonde made to turn back, but one glance around the white coated landscape and he realized that he didn't know where back was.

_And I take back all the things I said to you_

Struggling with his nature and his newfound feelings for the blonde, the brunette cried aloud, "Don't leave me alone!"

He dropped to his knees on the frozen shingles with a dull clatter, his eyes trained on the pine-lined horizon and his good hand clasping a small, bronze object...

_And I give it all away  
just to have somewhere to go to_

Stumbling on, on, on he went, his lips blue with cold and his heart blue with melancholy and regret. He cleared the trees and started across the plain. The wind was harsher here, snapping his blonde hair up into unruly shapes and laughing at his feeble attempts to stay warm.

_Give it all away  
to have someone to come home to_

He knew the other was waiting at the mansion for him. He knew he wouldn't be going back. But... the brunette and his maze of a house had been all the home he'd known for the past month and a half...

_This is my December_

The bronze object fell from the nerveless hand as the brunette collapsed on the roof, passed out from the pain and the cold. It was a medallion, simply engraved with a vine and the characters 'J&S' beautifully entwined. The string remained drawn tight around the pale wrist, keeping the trinket from flying into oblivion. The black cord stood out starkly from the ocean of white that surrounded it, as did the figure struggling through the field of white...

_These are my snow covered dreams_

The brunette, in his fevered dreams, remembered the love he'd discovered and known the past month. He remembered the shock of discovery, the joy of love returned, the pains of pleasure... and the agony of misunderstanding...

_This is me pretending  
This is all I need_

The blonde saw the manor, standing out from the winter wonderland like a coffin on a freshly made bed. He set his sights upon it... he knew he might not make it that far anyway... but it was good to have a goal...

The brunette awoke with searing pains in his chest, face, and hand. He realized he'd fainted... looked around frantically for the necklace and sighed shortly in relief when he found it still looped 'round his wrist... Then he saw the figure struggling in the snow...

_And I_

_Just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

The blonde, coming up to the house, tripped upon the bottom, snow-encrusted step and fell. The fall did not knock him out, but he lost the will to move, and his world-weary amber eyes slipped closed...

_And I take back all the things I said to make you feel like that_

Upon opening the door, the brunette fell in shock at the sight of the dying boy... he scooped the lifeless form up into his arms, shaking from the cold, and dumped him unceremoniously on to the couch before collapsing himself, both from fatigue and the deadly cold...

_And I just wish that I didn't feel like there was something I missed_

The blonde woke... he was warm. Looking down he saw the other's face and thought he was still dreaming... then he saw the medallion looped about the other's wrist...

The brunette was sprawled lifelessly on the luxurious carpeted floor... his skin, already pale, was a light tint of blue... his breath never came, although the blonde held his own waiting. The proud, cold heart had ceased to beat long ago...

_And I take back all the things I said to you_

Untying the black cord from the frozen wrist, the blonde tried not to concentrate on the fact that he could see his own breath... he'd struggled so far, for so long... it couldn't end this way...

The medallion fell shakily upon his thin chest as he snuggled up to the body of the other... warm tears fell upon death-kissed cheeks as he kissed the still-parted lips... the fire was dying... but he had no strength to stoke it...

_And I give it all away just to have somewhere to go to_

Feeling... falling... loving... for naught. His journey... had been in vain. He should have stayed... then his love might not have died... then their love might still... be warm...

_Give it all away  
To have someone to come home to_

The tears slipped into dead lips and they tasted. The frozen chest heaved in a silent gasp, the melted heart surged to life. Clawing his way back from the darkness... the brunette turned to see the blonde curled in a ball beside him... still alive.

_This is my December  
This is my time of the year  
This is my December  
This is all so clear_

The blonde's eyes flickered open, saw the other staring at him, saw the despair in those icy cobalt orbs.

"Death..." he whispered, his full voice long since gone, "is only the beginning..."

"The beginning of what?" The brunette whispered as well. There was no more wood for the life-giving fire... not another soul in the house... they could scream and cry and no one would come...

"Eternity..." The answer came in a hiss as the blonde shifted closer to the other. The brunette wrapped his strong arms around his love, trying to warm his frail limbs.

_And I give it all away  
Just to have somewhere to go to  
Give it all away  
To have someone to come home to_

They held each other, never knowing who breathed their last before the other, nor whose heartbeat stilled first... they simply existed for each other... in the snow covered lonely world...

Their December... ended... before their love had even begun...

Lifeless hands entwined on a frigid hearthrug... side by side... the medallion looped over both necks... both mouths pressed together in an eternal kiss...

_And I give it all away  
Just to have somewhere to go to  
Give it all away  
To have someone to come home to..._

* * *

Even flames are welcome this time. It lets me know you care. 


	7. Mad World

**Mad World**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

lyrics to the song Mad World are copyright to Gary Jules.

* * *

I really am going nowhere.

No one understands. I thought that perhaps you would, but of course you don't. You can't understand how anyone can be messed up. Or at least, more messed up than you.

I counted raindrops once. They were sliding down my window. I focused on them with my right eye, my left being mashed into the bed, and tried to ignore the man on my back.

You wonder why I act so tough?

I'm hurt. Badly. Bleeding, even. But you'll never see. You think you love me, think kisses and caresses and violently tender lovemaking are enough.

I suppose you'll see, in time, that they aren't.

You really are blind, aren't you, love? You can see well enough to shoot a gnat from a post at one hundred paces and not hit anything but the gnat, but those sapphire eyes of yours cannot see beneath a person's skin, into their soul. And that's the sight that counts.

I can't help but flinch when you touch me. You will never learn, will you? Dirty dogs like me don't like to be touched. And your pride is as big as the rest of you.

You take my aloof nature personally. You run away to the safe haven of Glenlivet and Duel Monsters. And then, alone and lost without you, I'm forced to kill myself.

You see the vicious cycle, aoi hitomi? My blue eyes?

I really am going nowhere…

Will you ever know how much pain welled up inside this broken, bleeding shell when I wrote that? Your nickname? Oh, my blue eyes, I love you terribly. How can you love me back? I don't understand. How can you love a mutt like me? I'm a whore, left in the dust, whimpering, bleeding, used, and broken. And there you are; so much better, and brighter, than I am. Your kind smile is like a whiplash… you don't know what you're dealing with.

I'm hurting you; I know I am. How many times will I watch your cold features crumple and your steely eyes fill; only to turn away because I know I caused you pain?

I can't hold back my tears now, love. I wish you were here with me, to kiss me and touch me in ways that make me forget my own name. But all I have is this crumpled piece of paper, a red pen, and the rain.

The door slams. He's home early.

My love, save me…

My blue eyed beauty. You're nowhere near to hear my cries.

I'm counting the raindrops again.

I really am going nowhere…

_I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad; the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take; when people run in circles it's a very, very mad world…_

* * *

R&R 


	8. Telephone

**Telephone**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

May not be suitable for children under the age of maturity. This'll give 'em nightmares.

* * *

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

_Jonouchi, answer the fucking phone!_

A mop of blonde hair flopped around, the only part of Jonouchi Katsuya visible above his blankets, and the concealed mouth below it sighed.

How many times had this happened?

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

_Answer the goddamn phone, boy, or I'll kill ya!_

Every fucking time it rang, his father would find some good reason to make him answer it. The old man wasn't that lazy... he just found it a good excuse to tan Jou's hide if the boy didn't answer the phone when bidden.

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

"I'm not picking up the fucking phone," Jou grumbled from beneath the blankets. He was comfortable, and besides... when he'd last seen his father, the man was laying a foot away from the phone.

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

He waited for his father's shout. They didn't have an answering machine – too expensive – but after about the sixth or seventh ring, the caller usually gave up.

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

No shout. That was odd. Jou cocked his head, then popped up, still swathed in bedclothes. His amber eyes darted about his room, noted the closed door (his father never allowed him to close the door fully... sometimes, when he was drunk, he didn't have enough dexterity to get it open), and then blinked. He slowly untangled himself, and rose to place his sock-clad feet on the floor.

BRIIIIIIIIII – crash!

_Oh, shit! _Jou's eyes widened in sudden fear. Racing around his bed, he ducked underneath it and fumbled for the knife he kept hidden between the slats.

He found it and raised his head above the mattress just as his bedroom door creaked open.

His father, obviously wasted and eyes bloodshot, hefted a 12-gauge pistol.

Jou could only stare.

"Thought I toldja ta aanswer da fuckin' phone!" The man slurred with a snarl.

Jou tried to duck, but wasn't fast enough.

A single shot rang out.

Amber eyes suddenly emptied, blood stained the back wall. Knife fell from pale, lifeless fingers. Golden hair quickly became matted with crimson.

The body collapsed in a pool of its own matter.

The drunk in the door smiled.

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!

* * *

R&R 


	9. Light Me Up

**Light Me Up  
**

_a chapter of Living Lost_

_by_ The Pop Tart Spirits

Some people were rightly disturbed and disappointed with the last segment, so here's another. It's rather disturbing in and of itself.

Let me reiterate: these little snippets of story are in no way related to one another. They're just a shitload of one-shots that all revolve around the pain, death and destruction of one lovely blonde punk.

As always... gomenasaimasu, Katsuya.

* * *

As one of my heavy-lidded eyes cracked open to take in the unwelcome sun, I remembered last night. 

I remembered the boys and girls, all hopped up on whatever shit they could find, fucking each other with the single-mindedness that comes with too many drugs. I remembered exactly how much I smoked (three bowls, two passed blunts and a few goes at the four-foot water bong Tsuya keeps in his closet); I remembered every person I fucked/got fucked by (four females and six males, all in one night - Katsuya, you stud).

It'd gotten to the point where I no longer woke up sober. Welcome to my summers.

Fuck a summer job. You'd think that an enterprising young man such as myself might want to make a little dough, especially since the water in the apartment I shared with my old man was off more days than it was on. Also considering the fact that said old man couldn't hold a job for longer than a week. But the drugs were free if you knew the right people, knew being a word of several definitions in this context, and the sex wasn't half bad. Plus, it was a lifestyle that meant more often than not I slept in a comfortable bed with a hot shower awaiting me the next morning.

No, not in such a hurry to be responsible.

It's amazing, when you think about it, how disease-free I am. I haven't gotten sick since grade school and I get myself checked regularly for the goo and shit like that; nothin'. We got all sortsa people coming in and out of our lives like this, what with the water bongs and the sex and blunt circles and the community booze. I coulda gotten mono five times over last summer alone.

But I digress.

I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else remembered. As I slowly sat up, I discovered that I was in a king-sized bed with Tsuya, a girl I didn't recognize, and Kiyoko, a beauty whose connections had been the life of the party. And she'd chosen me.

Bisexuality is a lovely thing.

Slowly I untangled myself and stumbled out of the room, stopping to stretch before trying find the kitchen under empty pizza boxes, bottles, and people who'd passed out where they stood. I recognized Hayate, a tall and somber bassist whose tolerance was a thing to envy, and had to laugh. He'd passed the fuck out while cleaning the bong, apparently. Gently I set the glass piece on the counter, and eased him to the floor.

You might think that washing one's face in the kitchen sink is a bit gauche, but considering what I loathed to find in the bathroom...

We'll leave it at that, na?

I gave the rest of the kitchen a cursory glance and then ducked my head to look under the floating cabinets to the living room beyond. Jackpot! Half a pizza, still untouched. Hello, breakfast.

I has halfway there when I smelled something burning. I picked up a pizza slice and turned back towards the kitchen just in time to see the bathroom door explode outwards. It slammed against the hallway wall and dropped, charred black. A small shock wave from the blast blew heat into my face and ruffled my hair back. The smell of weed, chemicals and crisped flesh reached my nostrils and the pizza came back up.

"What... the fuck?" Hayate, one of several woken by the explosion, staggered out of the kitchen and reeled back from the heat. I was still standing frozen in place, and belatedly I thought to grab the fire extinguisher. I raced towards the bathroom, gagging at the smell, and started spraying. A few half-hearted gusts of yellowed foam burst out, only seeming to feed the flames before it stopped completely. I threw it from me in disgust.

"Get some water!" Someone screamed, and someone else grabbed a bucket. By then the fire had spread along the walls, catching the carpet and sending waves of noxious fumes throughout the entire apartment. The water was too little, too late. They were still organizing a chain-gang of water buckets when the kitchen stove caught fire.

Someone had left the gas on.

This is what you get when you have a drugged-out orgy in an apartment that's never been up to code. The clothing of five people caught in places; they screamed and bumped into one another in their haste to drop and roll. I shook my head and decided to get the fuck out of there, and raced to the door - only to find it unlocked but unopenable. I wrenched at it, yelling, saying unmentionable and unintelligible things as I nearly tore my arm off trying to get the fucking door open. A few of the more sobered men tried to help me, but for whatever reason the goddamn thing wouldn't budge.

The kitchen was an inferno, now, and the way to all the rest of the apartment was blocked by smoke, flame and burning bodies. The few of us that were left crouched below the poison smoke in the living room, and Hayate and I grabbed the coffee table and shoved it through the window. Smoke billowed out, seeking escape, and we crowded to the jagged opening. It was then that we were reminded that the apartment was five floors up.

Somebody, Tsuya I think, let out a groan.

The fire pressed closer and closer behind us. We could hear the fire trucks in the distance but, being jaded as we are, we all knew they'd be too late. An ash-smeared girl who turned out to be Kiyoko, pulled up her skirt and unzipped my jeans as she handed me six roaches. Might as well go down fucking, I think she said as I tried to read her lips above the roar of the flames. I stuck four of the blunts into my mouth and lit them on the wall; she took the last two. They were gone in three hits. She rode me into oblivion, not even screaming as we burned.

I don't know which was sweeter - the kiss of release or the kiss of death.

* * *

R&R. 


End file.
